Hoofbeats and Lute Strings
by OrielleD
Summary: A University student overwinters in Newarre, setting the stage for Bast's master plan. Takes place before the framing elements of KKC.
1. Introduction

Bast washed the dishes as best he could. He couldn't help it if he wasn't doing the best job; it's not like he'd ever had to do anything as pedestrian as dishes before this.

The Waystone Inn was impeccably constructed, and had been finished just a few months earlier. They'd settled into life as inkeepers and his Reshi had become a simple man named Kote. There had been no music since, and it pained Bast more than he thought it ever might.

A bell tinkled, signaling the entrance of a customer. So late in the season, things were grinding to a halt. In a span or two, there would be nothing left but silence. It hung heavily on him, though he'd never let his Reshi know. Before he knew it, it would be spring, and there were scads of beautiful women in this town. He'd keep himself entertained.

"Bast, can you get that?" Kote called from the basement. Bast heaved a heavy sigh, dried off his hands, and exited the back room.

A visitor stood in the threshold. Not one of the locals, either, by the look of it. She drew back her hood and a shock of auburn curls came to rest with the movement, and Bast knew that the number of lovely women in this town had been increased by one. He tried not to preen, and instead put on his most winning smile. "Welcome to the Waystone Inn," he said. "How can I help you?"

"Are you the owner?" She seemed anxious, or scared. She looked like a deer about to take flight.

"Not exactly—"

"I should probably speak to the owner," she said. Her smile was warm and a little regretful. "It's regarding a long-term stay." Over-wintering, then. He'd heard it was common, though why she'd pick a backwater like Newarre for it, he'd never know—

The door swung open with a blast of cold, sleet-filled air, answering his unasked question. He dashed to the door, closing and latching it, then came back to the girl. As he passed back around to her, he caught the edges of her face coming back from what looked like a double-take. No, he'd just imagined it. The warm smile was on her face again, like it had never left.

"The owner is a little busy downstairs, but while you wait for him, I'm happy to serve you a bit of dinner." He was suddenly glad they'd put the kettle on for the night.

"I should see to my horse."

"No need!" Bast jumped to attention, happy for the distraction a horse would serve, but she waved him off.

"Thank you, but he's a little…" she trailed off. A little what? What else could a horse be, besides fun?

"Tetchy?" Bast supplied.

She nodded, visibly relaxing now that the word was off someone's tongue. "Tetchy. Yes. Can you show me to the stables?"


	2. A Midnight Concert

"She rides a draft horse, Reshi."

Kote gave Bast a non-committal grunt. "She's tall enough, and the horse can take both her and a significant load without tiring."

"That thing has got to be at least eighteen hands!"

"Why does this matter to you?" Kote asked, barely looking up from his book. Bast suddenly felt very small.

"I don't know."

"All I care is that she's paying. Anything else is irrelevant." Kote finally looked up, pinning Bast with a meaningful look.

"Reshi, we don't need the money. And besides, you could have gotten way more for the room than you asked for. What did she say she was here for, anyway?"

"She was trying to make it back to Tarbean, but it seemed the winter got the best of her before that. It's not uncommon." He closed the book and put his feet up on a stool. "By the way, she's going to be setting up shop in the back shed."

"What is she going to be doing in there?" Bast asked. He thought about the heavy packs he'd helped her unload.

"I didn't ask," Kote said, and then winked. "I bet she'll need help stoking the fire in the shed, though."

Now there was a prospect. She was a very pretty girl. It certainly wouldn't take much to sidle up for a kiss or two, in his opinion, and they'd likely both enjoy it. "I bet she will."

Kote rolled his eyes, and then stilled. Bast stilled, as well, hearing a noise from the room next door. A plucking string? It stopped, then started again, in a different tone. A few moments later, a series of expressive notes began to issue from the wall.

"And it seems we have ourselves a fiddler," Bast said, trying to suppress a smile at the thought of having a bit of music through the long winter.

"Violinist," Kote corrected. Bast cocked his head. "That's the second movement from Bellamy's _Deucalion,_" he explained. "Not a bad arrangement." A classical piece, then, rather than folk. Was that the only difference between a violin and a fiddle, anyway?

The music continued for a little while, and Bast reckoned he saw his Reshi's eyes mist over a little as they listened. But Kote got up, and patted Bast on the shoulder. "Enjoy it, Bast," he said. "Try and get to _Celum Tinture _tonight."

"I will," he said agreeably, and Kote left the room. He listened as the fiddle—no, the violin—played on. It repeated the song, sometimes stopping and restarting at a different point, and then continued. Bast looked out the window. The sleet had stopped and the roof was mostly dry, so he popped it open and decided to take a walk.

He peeked his head through the window. He couldn't see much in the dim light of the single lantern, but she moved expressively, kissing her strings with the bow. He wondered what her face looked like. Was it screwed up in a look of intense concentration? Was it fixed in a placid smile? She finished one song and moved to the next. It sounded beautiful, and hauntingly familiar. Where had he heard it before?

The music stopped. "You can come in," she called out to the window. Caught, red-handed! _Ah, well,_ he thought. _May as well, if I__'m invited._

"How long did you know I was out there?" he asked, as he jumped down from the ledge into her room proper. She'd only been here for a few hours, but it appeared she was settling in nicely. Her things were stacked up on the shelves. A few books lay on the small desk, and her clothes had already been unpacked into the wardrobe. A fire cracked merrily in the hearth. She smiled, apparently not minding his skulking about.

"I was about halfway through my first song when I heard clicking about on the roof. You'll forgive me when I say you seemed enthusiastic when we met. I almost expected it." She gestured toward a chair, and he sat.

"Bellamy's _Deucalion,_" Bast said. "I've always liked Bellamy."

She raised an eyebrow. "Not bad for a boy from a town this far away from Tarbean."

"I'm not from here," Bast said proudly. "Reshi and I are from closer to the capital. We just found a nice inn here and thought it'd be a good place to settle down." He frowned. "But I was lying about knowing any Bellamy."

Instead of looking angry, she laughed. "You knew enough to pull Bellamy out of a hat. Can I have your name?"

He made note that she actually asked to have his name, not for him to tell her. She was either a tricky slip of a girl, or a cunning one, or both. "My name is Bast. May I have yours?"

"A name for a name is only fair. I'm Eilonwy." She made a little curtsey, gesturing with her bow as she did.

"Like the opera?" This one he knew without Reshi's help. Even in the Faen realm, people knew about _The Eiloniad._

"Precisely like the opera." She closed and latched the window. "Though, to be fair, I never belonged on the stage. I don't have a very good voice, so I let Miala do the singing." She played a few bars from 'Eilonwy's Aria', drawing the last note out in a long sustained motion. He clapped, and she took a theatrical bow.

"It's been so long since I've heard proper music. I'm glad you decided to stay here."

"Me, too," she said. "I almost tried to make it all the way to Rannish, but I was told the best inn for miles around was here. It is beautiful."

"The inn? Yes. I like it a lot, too. And it's brand new." He paused. "I was told you were also renting out the work shed. May I ask what you'll be doing?"

"I have a couple of projects that I need to work on," she said. "I figure the winter will be long and cold - I might as well get something done in that time."

"Besides long moonlit walks with a handsome boy?" Bast asked, a little more hopefully than he thought it would sound.

She smiled. "You remind me of someone I know. Yes. We can go for a walk, though perhaps not tonight. In the meantime, though—do you have any requests?"

"I've heard you play the violin," Bast said. "But what I really want to hear is a fiddle."

She laughed and brought the instrument to her chin. "Only if you dance."

"That I can handle." He brought his hands up to his hips and waited for Eilonwy to strike the first note.


	3. A Song in the Barn

When Bast woke in the morning, he knocked softly on Eilonwy's door, but there was no answer. He knocked a bit harder, then took a peek inside to find that she was already up and out of bed.

He went looking for her in the common room, in the pantry, and in the basement, but she wasn't in any of those places. So, he went to the last place he could think to find her: the stable. When he got there, he found that he wasn't exactly alone.

"What are you doing, Reshi?" he whispered, but Kote shushed him, and smiled.

"Listen." And Bast did, and smiled too.

In the far corner of the stable, Eilonwy was talking to her horse. No, she was singing.

_I__'ve a fine enough voice, a voice, a voice, for a horse, of course, of course, of course… _

It was descriptive enough. She carried the tune with little effort, but her voice was rough-hewn and a contralto to boot. The horse nickered contentedly as her song drifted from one corner of the barn to the other. "What do you say, Warra? Do you like that?"

The horse whuffed, and Eilonwy sighed. "Pah. Everyone's a critic." He heard her patting deeply against the barrel of his chest, and she began to sing again.

_My voice won__'t go up on a stage, and that's all well with me, for anyone with any sense would throw away the key!_

Bast suppressed a giggle as she launched back into the refrain. Kote cocked a half smile.

"I can hear you," she called. They both came out of the woodwork, and she smiled. "He's feeling better this morning. You can meet him properly now." Bast watched as Kote walked up to the beast, murmuring softly to him.

"Juntish?" he finally asked.

Eilonwy nodded. "Full bred, if the seller was being straight with me."

"Looks like it. He's a big one. But good temperament."

"Except in a storm," Bast said. "He was a right bastard last night." The horse whuffed, as if in apology.

"Why 'Warra'?" asked Kote. Bast was caught by the question. Why, indeed?

"Oh. It's short for 'Cibwarra'_._ In Vintish musical notation, it means that you're to hold a note for longer than its value says. Usually, it's up to the conductor's discretion…orchestra." She ended lamely, then took a breath and changed the subject. "He's a draft breed, but he was born to run; he'll go until you tell him otherwise."

"It's a nice name. It fits him."

She smiled. "It took a while for it to come, but it made sense."

"Most people I know just think of a name until one sticks."

"Nothing stuck to my big boy until I came along, didn't I?" She scratched him on the neck, and he closed his eyes, basking in the attention. "He took a shine. Couldn't let me go, so he came home with me. We've been together ever since. Yes, it beats pulling a tinker's cart, dunnit, Warra? Though I suppose lately it's been wagons…" She smiled at Bast, then turned back around. "I traded for a few things and two mules. I think the tinker was happy to have some ears that would actually listen to him. In any case, I've never been one to name something off the bat. You have to get proper feel for a thing, before you can think about giving it a name. Horses are no different."

She walked Cibwarra to the other end of the barn, where she proceeded to ignore both men.

_Wagons?_ Kote mouthed to Bast, and Bast could only shrug. They left her to her task, and as they exited the barn, they heard her start her silly song again:

_I sit around the campfire without a tale to tell, and even if I had a yarn I couldn__'t spin it well!_


	4. A Winter Walk

Several spans passed, and the first snows blanketed Newarre in a foot of fluff. Silence lay over the town like a comfortable blanket, and Bast was quite beginning to enjoy his midafternoon strolls with Eilonwy. The three would take breakfast in the morning, and while Bast attended to his duties, she would read silently and make calculations on a slate. In that time, he would start the fire in the work shed, and they'd fetch Cibwarra and go for their walk.

She wasn't actually from Tarbean, as she'd said she was. She was from Imre, in fact, not forty miles away. She a luthier, apprenticed to her father; Sivelle was an exceptionally talented man who sold string instruments of all kinds the world over. They were wealthy, but not astronomically so, and she was able to go to the University, just across the river. While she still hadn't told him exactly what brought her to this end of the world, she'd been happy for an extra set of hands in the work shed, and she'd been happy to explain what she was doing in a fair amount of detail. On those afternoons, she'd bring her heavy head of curls into a messy horsetail and fasten the rogue wisps of hair around her head with clips. She'd wear a dress—other than the day she'd come into town, she'd always worn a dress—but it would be a simple one of wool or thick linen, nothing fancy. She never seemed to wear anything fancy. Bast had never seen anything quite like it; while there was a fair share of beautiful farmers' wives in Newarre, their rough beauty didn't compare to that of a stunning woman who cared little about it when she was hard at work.

Sometimes Kote would pop into the shed, watching her work with no small amount of interest. Today was one of those days; she had finished attaching the neck to an instrument that looked a little like, but wasn't quite, a trouper-style lute.

"What is it?" Kote asked. "It doesn't look like a lute."

"I haven't made a name for it, yet," she said, not looking up from her sanding.

"You designed this?" he asked, with more than a touch of disbelief.

"Sort of," she said, sounding impatient. "It's a heavy modification of an already-existing design."

"Reshi," Bast said, trying to maintain neutrality. "Her father is a luthier in Imre. She's been helping him since she was old enough to walk."

Kote only grunted and walked out of the work shed. Bast followed. "Is something wrong, Reshi?"

"No," he said.

"You know you want to try it when she's done," he wheedled. "It's going to have _twelve_ strings."

"It's impossible to keep that many strings in tune," he said, then walked away. Bast went back inside the work shed.

"Does he have something against musicians?" she asked, when he returned.

"No. I think most days he wants to be one."

Eilonwy looked up and grimaced. The expression looked unbecoming on her face, and Bast hurried to make it go away. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

The smile came back. "I'd love to."

"Bring the fiddle? I know a nice spot in the woods where we can sit. It's nice and warm out, and I can make a little fire."

She put her work down and grabbed her cloak, shooing him gently away when he tried to drape it around her shoulders. "I'll go grab something to eat," he said. "Just wait here."

He hurried into the upstairs pantry and grabbed a loaf of bread, some cheese and one of the less expensive wines, and as he was on his way out the door, Kote stopped him.

"Going somewhere?" he asked.

"Just on a walk."

"Has she kissed you yet?"

"No. Maybe today!" Bast laughed, and Kote smiled, just a little ruefully.

"She's bringing your average down, Bast. Best hop to it."

"Gladly, Reshi." He gave Kote a little bow, and returned to Eilonwy, who was cloaked and carrying her violin case in one gloved hand.

"Will you play me more Bellamy today?" he asked.

"Anything you want to hear, Bast. You're one of my best audiences."

They walked for a time, until they reached a well-sunned rock near a small, half-iced pool. Bast scrambled up to the flat surface of the rock, then graciously extended a hand for Eilonwy to follow. She did, with no questions or reservations. He extended the sack of food out to form a sort of picnic blanket, then made a magnanimous gesture and sat. While he tucked his feet into a cross-legged pose, she did the same.

"I've been meaning to tell you that those are some very fine boots."

"Thank you," he said. "I got them a couple years ago. Nibble?"

She took the bread from him and cut herself a small hunk of cheese, peeling off the rind and then eating both in small mouthfuls. "They still look new."

He nodded. "When did you think of the lute-thing?"

"Over the past year or so, I've been thinking of it. This is the first opportunity I've had to work on something, really work on it." She took another small mouthful, chewed and swallowed. "I think once I show it to my teacher, he'll let me graduate."

"How long have you been there?"

"Almost six years, before this. I've learned a lot, but…I think it's my time." She made a brief and confident nod. "It feels like my time." They ate for a little while longer. "How long have you been here, in Newarre?"

"Year and a half, or so. I can never tell. Time passes so slowly here."

"You must get bored."

"Sometimes," Bast admitted. "It seems to be worse in the winter. Hardly any travelers come through, and it's all the locals. They're nice enough, but a town like this…"

"Small enough that you don't fit in yet."

"Exactly. How is it you always seem to know what I'm going to say?"

She shrugged. "Must be a talent of mine. Are you going to finish that?"

He handed the last hunk of bread to her, and she took it gratefully. "Thanks. I feel like I haven't eaten in days. When do you think Kote will make a proper dinner?"

"I don't know. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. Probably tonight—the locals usually come in on Felling to swap stories and get drunk."

"Sounds like a great time," she said.

"Usually they have interesting things to say. It can get pretty busy. I bet Reshi could use your help."

She laughed. "I'd make a terrible barmaid."

"Maybe you can play the fiddle!"

"Maybe." She carefully wiped her hands on the blanket, then popped the latches on her violin case. "I'm not so sure though."

"Why not?" Bast watched as she put the instrument to her chin, and began to play some very basic scales.

"I don't know," she said, not bothering to stop her playing. "I don't think he'd approve. What would you like to hear today?"

"What's the hardest song you can play?"

She stopped playing, then eyed him suspiciously. "Now you're toying with me."

"I swear I'm not!"

"Is that so?"

"I swear it on my mother's milk."

She raised an eyebrow and began to play "Bell-Wether", an infuriatingly simple tune.

"Now you're just toying with _me_," Bast said, fully aware that he sounded like a petulant child.

She raised an eyebrow, then switched to "Squirrel in the Thatch". She smiled a bit at the look on his face.

"Why do you do this to me?" Bast pleaded.

She shrugged, then switched to something a little different, if no less simple. It took a moment, but Bast soon recognized the melody. "The Song Half-Sung."

"You're good."

"Oh, come now, Eilonwy. _Everyone _knows that one."

"You have me there. How about this one?" She played something a little more complicated, and the rise and fall of it took Bast's breath away.

"I've never heard it before."

"I'm surprised. Here, have a guess at this one."

"Wait, you haven't told me what it was—"

"I know," she said. "Consider it your great mystery." She played something quite a bit more complicated, and the chords of it seemed to merge with each other into a kind of soup. She stopped and frowned. "I'm not very good at this one. It's new."

"It sounds incredibly difficult."

"That's because it is." She put the violin back in its case, but didn't close it. "I heard it for the first time a few years back. It's called 'Tintatatornin'—one of Illien's lesser-known works."

"Illien."

She raised an auburn brow. "Any musician worth their salt knows and appreciates Illien. Though I can tell you a number of people who'd dare to say otherwise. I stopped paying them any mind years ago." She gestured at the case. "It's my opinion only, of course, and only recently expanded, but in my mind, there are two kinds of musician. There are the kind…the kind like I used to be. We have sheet music and hours of practice, schema for lute and violin and viola and any number of anything with strings. We play in orchestra pits, we play for opera. And yet—" she nudged the case with a dainty, booted foot—"we don't really _feel_ it. I was one of those for a while. It wasn't until the University that I felt anything otherwise."

"What happened then?"

"I made friends. Real ones, not the kind that you spend a childhood with and then never rightly know. They took me to a place I'd never been and I spent hours there, listening. The people I heard there, they _felt_ it, and it showed. Many of them didn't play by sheet music at all. Imagine my surprise!" She leaned back, a memory playing across her face. "It was there that I heard Illien for the first time. God, I must have been about nineteen? Twenty?" She shrugged. "I heard the song, and it was like…like someone had turned on a switch. I started working in the archives the next week, looking for any information that I could find. One thing led to another, and I knew I had my project."

"The funny lute?"

"The funny lute. The original design was Illien's, but he only ever made the one. Couldn't keep the strings in tune. But we know more now than we knew then. So I spent half a year finding the schema, and here I am now."

"Working on a lute in the middle of nowhere."

"There's a story behind that, too." She picked up the violin and began to play "Tintatatornin" again, a little more slowly than before. Somehow, though, it didn't sound amateurish, but stately. "Maybe one of these nights I'll tell it to you."

He listened to her play for over an hour, but the sun was beginning to set and the warmth of the rock had faded. She shivered a little, then put the violin away. "I'm sorry, Bast. I can't go any longer."

"I'll walk you back." And he did, picking his way across the snow with her and regaling her with some of the safer tales of his youth. She was the perfect audience: laughing at all the proper parts, and asking questions when his tone of voice said it was her turn to speak. Before long, they arrived in the common room of the Waystone, which was warm and welcoming after the sudden onslaught of cold.

"I was wondering when you'd come back," Kote said, then turned to Eilonwy and gestured at the rapidly-filling room. "I hate to steal him from you, but."

"Not at all," she said. "It was a pleasure to have borrowed him. Bast, I think I'll be heading to my room. I haven't warmed up quite yet."

"I'll escort you," he said, and turned to Kote. "If you'll give me just a couple of minutes, Reshi, I'll be right back down."

"Hop to it."

He deposited her at the door to her room. "Thank you for playing for me today."

"It was a pleasure, Bast." She was close, and he'd always thought of her as so much shorter, but she was only shy of eye-level by a few scant inches. Tiny gods, but her lips were beautiful…

"Bast?"

He continued to lean in, unable to think of anything but the way they might feel on his. Like butterflies, or velvet, or the newborn moon on a cold night…

"Bast, please stop."

He opened his eyes. Her eyebrows were furrowed, though they didn't seem like it was out of anger or frustration. Only confusion. "Is something wrong?"

"I…" she faltered. "I'm afraid I might have given you the wrong impression. I like you a lot, Bast. But my heart belongs to someone."

"Oh," he said. "Well, I…I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"It's all right." He tucked one of her rogue curls behind an ear and schooled his face into his most charming, reassuring smile. "I've enjoyed this. The walks, the music. The lessons in luthiery. Does it have to stop?"

She seemed relieved. "No, of course not. I've enjoyed it, too. You're a fine friend."

He bowed and kissed her knuckles, then winked. "As are you. I'll take your friendship thrice over, and once again."

"How very formal of you. You're a prince among men."

_You don__'t know how right you are. _"I do my best."

She opened the door to her room, and he made another bow. "I'll be up in a little bit to tend to your fire and bring some dinner."

"Thanks," she said. He began to close the door, but she interrupted him. "Bast?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for understanding."

"Any time," he said, then closed the door, frowned, and went downstairs.

"How did it go?" Kote asked as Bast put on an apron and began to pick dirty mugs off the bar.

"Terribly," Bast said, and sighed.

"What happened?"

"Rejected! She says her heart belongs to someone else."

Kote laughed. "She had the look about her, Bast, but I didn't have the heart to tell you. Here, take these to the table with the pretty blonde." He handed Bast a tray laden with food.

The pretty blonde? Oh. She was very pretty, wasn't she? "Gladly, Reshi."


	5. Stealth

All in all, it wasn't long until the pretty blonde he'd been serving was returning the favor. Her name was Bonnie and she was a giggly sort, which was precisely what Bast needed at a time like this: a welcome reminder that he was still quite as charming as he seemed to think he was. She lay in his arms, a little sheen of sweat on her face and neck. Then she smiled up at him.

"That was nice," she said, and giggled. "I'd heard you were a right gentleman, but I had to see for myself."

"And see you have, sweetling." He held her tightly and began to kiss her again.

"Already?"

It was Bast's turn to laugh. "Already. Unless you have a problem?"

"I can keep up," she said defiantly, and disappeared with him under the sheets. In the middle of their activities, however, he heard the rather loud voice of Eilonwy's violin playing in the room next door. He must have woken her. Damn, and here he was hoping they'd been quiet enough—

"What's that?"

"The lodger's fiddle."

"That one girl with the ruddy hair?"

Bast nodded.

"Must be too loud for her," Bonnie said, "Too bad, really." Then she took his mind off the violin with noises of her own, before slipping out of his room and the inn ahead of the rising sun. He slept for a while, then went downstairs to find Eilonwy already awake, taking a cup of tea and placidly thumbing through a book.

"I hope you don't mind that I helped myself to the kitchen," she said. "It was a little early, but I didn't sleep very well."

Likely all his fault, but she didn't seem angry at him. "It's fine, I'm sure. Have you seen Reshi?"

"No." She took another sip of the tea. "I think he's still asleep."

"Probably not. He's an early riser."

She shrugged. "Would you be a dear and help me get the shed fire started? I have a lot of work to do today."

"Happy to oblige," he said, and she shut her book and followed him to the back. Together they got the wood piled up in the hearth.

"Eilonwy?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it true you learned magic at the University?"

"Sort of. It's…complicated."

"Will you show me something? Just a little thing?"

She laughed a little. "Fine." Then she muttered a few words under her breath and started the kindling aflame. Bast made sure to make his reaction appropriately astounded, and she smiled. It would have been such a simple thing for her, really. A tiny binding and a bit of body heat went a long way.

She took a bow, letting a few of her curls fall into her face and back up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do."

"Wait, you're kicking me out?"

"As a matter of fact, I am."

"This isn't about last night, is it?" He tried not to let too much dismay leak into his voice.

"No, it's not about last night. I am surprised you managed to bed someone as quickly as you did, but that's none of my business."

"What is it, then?"

"There's nothing left to do that I can explain easily, or without getting into serious trouble with my teacher. That's all. You can't see this part." She sighed. "I'll tell you what. When it's ready for varnish, I'll let you know, okay?"

"All right." He hung his head and she shut the door behind him. He returned to the inn proper, to find Kote making the morning bread.

"You're up early, Bast. Didn't expect you for another hour, at least."

"Had some trouble sleeping, Reshi."

"I hear our guest did, too. I'm assuming you had a visitor?"

"Bonnie stayed for a little while," he admitted. "We woke her up."

"I know. I heard it, quietly." Kote frowned. "She was taking a whack at 'Tintatatornin'. It wasn't half bad."

"She's a pretty good player, Reshi."

"Not as good as me."

Bast shrugged, knowing that what he wanted to say would only irritate his teacher. _She plays a damn sight better than anyone who doesn__'t play at all_. "It's true…"

"But I suppose anything's better than no playing at all," Kote said with a sigh, stealing the words from his head. "I'm sorry, Bast. I know you've been dying for some proper music."

"She said she'd be willing to play some night, if you wanted. Probably wouldn't even have to pay her."

"I'll think about it," he said. "We'll see what the locals think, first. She's a stranger, after all, even if she's been here for several span."

"We're still strangers," Bast groused. Kote nodded.

"Likely will be for a while yet. Why aren't you helping her?"

"She kicked me out. Said she was working on something she had to keep a secret. Something that would get her into trouble at the University if she shared it."

"Wait. She's a student at the University?"

"I thought I told you, Reshi?"

"No, you didn't." He sighed. "This isn't good."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the University has trained her to see things others don't. Her mind is made to ask questions and answer them at the same time. _And _she's a damn sight closer to any of my stories than any of the folk here have a right to be." He drummed his fingers against the bar. "We'll have to be careful. Do you think she suspects?"

"I don't think so, Reshi." He had a thought. "Though, the night she came, I thought for a second…no."

"You thought _what_, Bast?"

"Well, Reshi, I thought she might have seen past my glamour, for a second. She looked at me kind of funny, but then…it was almost as if she took a veil over her face and changed it."

"Has she said anything to you?"

"No. She hasn't noticed the horse, either."

"Cibwarra?"

"You haven't noticed, either?" Bast put a hand on his forehead and squeezed his brow. "Warra's only _mostly_ horse. He's a little more, too, something fae. Like those dogs you saw, what, three years ago? They're too clever by half, and like people in their own right. He probably decided the tinker wasn't his cup of tea and moved on to the next interesting person."

"Eilonwy."

"Exactly."

Kote looked thoughtful. "Keep an eye on her. Anyone with true sight is dangerous for our health, and we'd do right to remember it."

"I will, Reshi."

"Tonight we'll sneak into the shed and see what she's working on." He dropped his manner back into the easygoing mask of the innkeeper. Easily, but a little too easily for Bast's taste. He'd have to do something about that, and soon.

The rest of the day went by quickly. Eilonwy took a break and worked Cibwarra on a lunge line for a while, joined them for lunch, and helped out a bit around the kitchen. Before long she disappeared back into the shed, and didn't reappear until late in the evening. She looked haggard and pale when she did, and went straight to her room with a request for hot bathwater and a bit of whatever happened to be in the kettle. Bast was happy to oblige.

"You don't look very good," he said when he arrived with the last bucket of water and some dinner.

"Oh, it's fine. I just need some food and some rest."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Bast, but thanks for asking." He recognized the gentle dismissal and took his leave, and before long, he heard the gentle sound of her breathing through the door. She was asleep. He crept downstairs.

"She's out, Reshi."

"You're sure?"

"She looked like she'd just got done running a hundred miles. I'm pretty sure she's not waking up."

"Let's go, then." He walked out to the work shed, then inspected the handle by lantern-light, feeling the doorjamb with both his hands and making a clucking noise when he found what he was looking for. "Fine work, this."

"What is it, Reshi?"

"There's a ward on the door. Whatever she was doing, she definitely wants it to stay secret." He checked a window and climbed through it.

"Maybe not secret enough," Bast said. Kote's only response was to thrust a beckoning hand out the open window, and Bast followed. He hung the lamp on a hook, then crossed over to where the lute-thing sat on a workbench. He picked it up, sighted along the top of the instrument, and felt the wood of it. He hefted it and ran an appraising eye along the edges.

"This is neat work," he said, an eternity later. "It'd be worth at least thirty talents, even without the sygaldry on it."

"There's sygaldry on it?"

"Here," Kote said. "And here. Worked into the neck, and at the bridge. Do you see it?"

Bast did. It was tiny, but visible, now that he thought about it. "What do you think it's for?"

"I'm not sure. Something to do with the strings…oh."

"What?"

Kote laughed, almost too loudly for his own good. "It's a couple things. This set here…this is to stabilize the wood. Ingenious. It would make the instrument far less susceptible to changes in humidity. And this…these are to keep the strings tuned to themselves."

"You'd only have to tune one string?"

"One string, or one set, yes." He turned the thing over. "Can't tell which until she shows it to us. This is really neat work. She's clever."

"She said once she finishes it, her teacher might let her graduate."

He made an appreciative hum as he put the instrument back on the work bench. "She's probably only a few terms away from getting her guilder. All right, my curiosity is sated for now."

"But—"

"But what, Bast?"

"Was this all she was up to?"

"If she'd explained it to you, she'd be in a good sight of trouble. The Arcanum prefer to keep their secrets, and she's still beholden to them."

"You teach me."

"I'm not beholden to the Arcanum, if you recall."

"I recall."

"Out, then," Kote said, though his eyes were dancing for the first time in years. There might still be a chance, then, and as Bast climbed out the window, he started spinning a plan for the coming Midwinter Revelry.


	6. Midwinter Revelry

"I think we should stay open for Midwinter Day this year," Bast suggested one morning a few span later.

"Why is that?"

"I don't know. I just think that the business will probably be good. All those folk celebrating the new year."

"It's a thought, to be sure."

"I bet Eilonwy would be happy to help keep things moving steadily. She might even bring Miala out to play, if you ask nicely."

"Miala?"

"Her fiddle."

"She named her fiddle?"

Bast shrugged. "She says it's bad luck to leave a thing with a soul without a name." Kote took the news with little other than a raised brow, but didn't say anything else.

"Do you know what _Miala_ means?" he asked.

"No, Reshi."

"_Miala _is the Siaru word for 'honey'."

"Well, if I do say so myself, it does sound a little like honey when she plays it. Sweet and mellow and full of everything that makes a person feel good."

"Fitting name, then." Kote had a look around the common room of the inn to make sure no one was listening. "It used to be that, to get to the second level of the University, you had to know the name of a thing. Even just one. That's not the case any more, but I can't help but wonder if our guest has one under her belt, as well."

"One way to find out!" Bast said.

"You will not. You already know that anyone discovering our whereabouts is a bad idea."

"I don't know, Reshi. I think she's trustworthy. She could probably benefit from anything you could teach her, and—"

"No, Bast."

"But, Reshi—"

"_No,_ Bast. I will not say it again." His eyes flared, and Bast shoved away any of his arguments, frowning.

"I'm sorry, Bast. There is just too much at stake. I know you like her, but it's not a good idea."

Bast heaved a sigh. He knew it was for the best, but the look in his Reshi's eyes when he'd eyed the work on the lute was something he hadn't seen in months, and he'd have given anything to see it again.

"Will you at least let her play?"

"She can play, _if _she wants to."

"I'll ask, Reshi."

Kote made a shooing motion. "Get."

Bast didn't need to be told more than once for that, so he headed over to the barn where he knew Eilonwy would be preparing Cibwarra for his morning walk.

"Hello, Eilonwy."

"Good morning, Bast. You're up early." She seemed to actually be saddling him up.

"That I am. Are you going for a ride today?"

"It's fine out, and the large paddock is actually quite dry. I thought we'd get a little practice in while the getting was good."

"Can I watch?"

"Of course." She turned to Cibwarra, who was waiting patiently for instructions. "Cibwarra, _mehtale, plie._" The horse blinked a couple of times, then lay down.

She mounted him. "_Hup._"

"Nice trick," Bast said, after the horse got up in a smooth motion.

"It's the only way I can get up that high," she laughed, then patted the horse on his neck. "Good boy."

Warra grunted.

"Want to show Bast what you can do, Warra?" She clicked and nudged the horse out of the barn, bending to avoid the lintel as he exited.

"Are you going to show me tricks?"

"Naturally."

"I love tricks."

She smiled and walked him out to the paddock, then in a circuit around the edges for a warmup.

"What does he do?" Bast called from the fence, then watched as Eilonwy nudged him into a trot, a canter, and a full gallop. Then she hopped off and had him do a few tricks: a prance, a dance, slow circles using her hands as a guide.

"Smart horse."

"I think so. Come on, Warra. You've had enough for today."

The horse shook his huge head, making Eilonwy laugh. "What, you want more?"

He nudged Bast along the edges of one of his boots and nickered softly. "Oh, no," Bast said. "Not in all the four corners am I getting a ride on you, my friend." Cibwarra nudged him again with what Bast interpreted as a disapproving grunt, or a request. Did he want Bast to tell Eilonwy of his true nature? Probably not. He was smart, but not so smart as that: a quadroon, at best. The full-blooded horses of his kind were soldiers of their own sort, bearing the Sithe up as they rode into battle; a few tricks and a distinct personality did not a Sithe-horse make.

Eilonwy led him back into the barn, where she went about the business of cleaning the mud off him, picking his hooves, and setting hay and oats out for his dinner. Cibwarra snorted at the serving he was being given.

"I don't think so, friend. You only get ten flakes when you're pulling a wagon. Be happy you're getting as many apples as you are, too."

Cibwarra sighed, and Eilonwy laughed as she took his halter off and rubbed his forehead. "Love you too, Warra. Be a good boy. I'll see you a little later."

They walked back toward the inn. "Reshi is going to keep the inn open on Midwinter Night. He said you could play, if you wanted; it should be busy."

"Sure. What do you think the locals like to hear?"

Bast shrugged. "Easy stuff. 'Tinker Tanner' and such. If you pull out the stops, they might get confused."

She laughed at this. "I'll leave the Bellamy for Imre, then. All right. I'll play. Oh, and Bast—" she reached into a pocket and pulled out two sealed letters, one very small, the other very large—"How likely is it that these would make it to where they need to go?"

He looked at the letters, one addressed to a D. Siyelle in Imre, the other to a Sebastian in Baron Rehali's court in Vintas. "The one to Sebastian will make it by Midwinter. The other one might not arrive until much later. Imre…it's a ways."

"I'm aware of that, having traveled the distance myself. It's fine; the second is far more important." She reached for a purse and pulled out two silver talents. "I think we can convince folks to make haste with this."

Bast nodded in agreement. "It's definitely a good sum of money."

They got back into the inn, and Eilonwy excused herself to wash up and read in the privacy of her room.

"What did she say?" Kote asked as she went upstairs.

"She said she would. I told her to stick to more earthy fare, and she seemed to understand."

"Good."

And it was with that the last span leading up to High Mourning went by. Lacking the accoutrements that larger towns possessed, one lone demon stalked the town of Newarre, and it was fairly clear that silver-masked Tehlu was played by the town priest. Business was slow, and the three often found themselves with little or nothing to do. Even Midwinter Day came and went with no sign of custom.

Judging Bast's original guess as to patronage on Midwinter Night as a bad one, Kote suggested that they close up the inn and have a quiet Midwinter feast to themselves. They agreed and set to work crafting a fine dinner, though it seemed Eilonwy was not a very good cook.

"My mother died when I was little," she said in explanation. "Papa wasn't a very good cook, either, so we hired a service."

"A cooking service?" Bast was curious at the thought of this. He'd heard of personal chefs before, but this was new.

Kote surprised them all. "It's less expensive than a personal cook," he said. "A central kitchen makes many of the same meal, then delivers them to all their customers."

"Exactly," Eilonwy said. "It was still delicious, anyway, and even after I started living in the University town I came home a few nights per span." She turned back to kneading the pie crust. "How's that?"

Kote pushed a careful finger into the dough. "Get it a few more times, and it should be fine. I'm going to go check on the ham."

When he left, Bast made a face, sticking out his tongue. "I'm so glad it wasn't mutton." Eilonwy crinkled her nose and nodded an emphatic agreement.

Dinner was ready before long, and Kote reached for a bottle of expensive Vintish wine with a flourish. "We'll drink well tonight, I think."

"Hear, hear." Bast reached for the wine and helped set the table.

Three-quarters of the way through the wine, Eilonwy got up and left, coming back with the funny lute. "It's done!" Bast exclaimed.

"It is."

"I thought you were going to let me help with the varnish?"

"I'm sorry, Bast. I forgot that there were some other things I couldn't show you with that. Here, have a look." She handed it to Bast, who took it reverentially. He watched Kote's eyes follow the instrument from one set of hands to the other.

"Twelve strings. Don't most lutes have seven?"

She nodded. "It's tuned a little differently, too, but it seemed a little more intuitive to me."

"What are these runes on it?" Kote asked, looking for all the world like an ignorant innkeeper. "Some sort of magic?"

"Not exactly. It's a little hard to explain easily, but the end result is that they keep things in line. The original design was back from Illien's day. Do you know of him?"

"I've heard a few things." How he managed to say that with a straight face was beyond Bast. "He was one of them ravel."

Bast watched Eilonwy's face slide from placid neutrality to utter surprise and shock. The hard line of her lips settled, and she took a deep breath. "He was Edema Ruh, if that's what you mean."

"Same difference."

"We'll have to agree to disagree," she said, in a forced tone.

"Goddamnit, girl, you say it as if you know a bunch for yourself."

"Well, as luck would have it, I do, and one of the greatest was responsible for half the tunes floating around the four corners. He's probably one of the greatest musicians of his time, if not the greatest one alive, Ruh or not."

"Bah," Kote said.

Her face gentled. "I thought you might be different, Kote. It's not…well…I'm sorry. You just don't know any better. The stories…they aren't true. Any ragdraggle troupe that call themselves Ruh, then thieve or maraud, aren't true Ruh at all. I wish I knew how to explain it any other way." She took the twelve-stringed lute from him, then tuned one string and strummed. The other strings started in discord, then slowly lined up to a pleasant open C.

"It tunes itself!" Bast said.

"Well, it tunes itself to itself. You always have to make sure the E string is in tune, first." She shaped a few chords, then played a few lines of "Tinker Tanner". "I was always terrible at playing anything with frets."

She worked her way up and down the board, occasionally dropping a chord or missing a strum. The instrument sounded fine, however, rich and warm, and the second strings hummed as she plucked the top course of strings. She played for a good while, then muted the strings with her palm and nodded down at the bowl with some satisfaction. "It'll do."

"That was beautiful," Kote said, and Bast was quick to nod in agreement.

"Thank you."

"Are you going to keep it for yourself?"

"No," she said. "When I go back to the University, I'll show it to my teacher. It's an advanced design, something not easily reproducible by untrained hands. But he'll accept the schema, and then decide whether or not it's an improvement to civilization. If it is, I'll graduate; if not, well, I suppose I'll know that he considers this sort of work frivolous."

"What will you do then?" Bast asked.

"I'll either try to graduate with my other advisor, or leave."

"You'd leave? Just like that?"

She laughed. "Just like that. I've learned a lot, but…I don't know. A year on the road, 'chasing the wind', as it were…it's taught me a lot. More than I could ever have learned in any set of walls."

"Where did you go?"

"All the four corners," she said. "It was wonderful. There was fire, and laughter, and good people all around. I worked hard, and I learned so much. I learned the meanings of things I thought I'd known. I even learned a name, though it wasn't that of the wind."

"Like Taborlin the Great?" Kote asked.

"Just like. But not fire and lightning…those are beyond me. I learned the name of wood."

"Makes sense," Bast said. "What with all the carving and such."

"I thought so, too," she said, nodding.

"Will you show us?"

"I can't do it on command. I'm no Taborlin."

"Oh."

They drank their way through the wine and moved to the barrel whiskey, Kote's comment forgotten for the time being. They swapped stories and laughed a while, finally settling into a drunken lassitude, watching the snow fall outside the inn.

"Eilonwy?" Bast propped his chin up on a hand.

"Hmm?"

"What did you do, when you went chasing the wind?"

She looked sideways at Kote, who was leaning back against his own chair. "It's a long story."

"We have time."

"Time, maybe, but perhaps not the taste." She nodded at Kote, who shrugged.

"What if I promise to keep a civil tongue?"

"I suppose I can manage it, then." She sat back in the chair, and the two men settled in, preparing for a story.

Eilonwy took a deep breath. "Keep in mind that I'm new to this, and if someone else were telling my story, it'd sound far better, I'm sure. I have little patience for the spotlight, and no talent for flair…"


	7. The Company of Baron Rehali

**I'd like to take a quick moment and thank my lovely reviewer PeregrineTook for the amazing compliment. I don't think there is any better thing to hear in the fanfic world than "This could be [author's] work." Especially when said author is one of the New Masters, as Rothfuss is proving to be.**

**That being said, I should also take this moment to state what should be obvious: The Kingkiller Chronicle is not mine. It's Pat's sandbox. I'm just playing in it.**

* * *

Keep in mind that I'm new to this, and if someone else were telling my story, it'd sound far better, I'm sure. I have little patience for the spotlight, and no talent for flair. Not to mention that for most of my life, things were easily dictated by what I could read, rather than what I could hear, and I have a feeling that orchestral musicians are poor storytellers, if my sad performances are any indication.

I'll glaze over what brought me to the University in the first place, as Bast already knows most of it. I'm apprenticed to my father, a luthier, and we have always been well-off, if not wealthy. I've never known hunger, and the most tragic financial happening during my stay at the University was when my father had to sell his most precious work to afford tuition one term. Business was slow and I'd just been promoted to the highest of the student levels, you see, and not long after that, things picked back up again.

Other than that, though, little is relevant. Mama died when I was young, too young to remember properly. I have an older brother who is clever, but not imaginative. We're both named after famous pieces of music, which is unique, if not a little frustrating. People never get Deucalion's name wrong, but I've heard a thousand mispronunciations of mine, and I've grown used to it.

Let's see. I told you I was bad at this. The asking was about the traveling, but to understand why I did what I did, a little more background is necessary. This I can still glaze over. I went to the University to bring my skills up to another level; I'd heard that in the Artificery—some call it the Fishery, but I never understood that—people could learn the secrets of the most fine-handed work. I never had any interest in anything else, though basic studies are required no matter what your specialization.

So I was admitted, what, six years ago now, and immediately signed up for work there. The Master Artificer is an interesting man, to say the least. A huge Cealdish man, but with the finest hands I've ever seen. The first thing he did was seize mine and have a look.

"Clever hands," he said to me that morning. "These hands already know fine work. Why are you here?"

I explained a little about my apprenticeship and how I wanted to learn artificery to advance what I already knew. He grunted, but assented, and I worked for years. I went along the traditional lines: E'lir, Re'lar. I made friends—eventually, I'm always slow to make them. I took time to be young and full of all the things I'd never known. I played my violin and went home several nights a span, and if I had a long enough break, I'd go with my father to Tarbean and substitute in for the occasional missing violinist.

I had already made Re'lar—that's the second rank—when I went to the Eolian for the first time. Bast, I can see your eyes asking a question. Why had I never gone before? All right, I'll tell you: I was strictly forbidden. My father had heard all manner of provocative things regarding the place, not the least of which was that a young, charming man with Illien's fire was making the rounds among the ladies of the place. But at the time I went, he was already gone, expelled from the University for some great deed or other if the stories are right. But this isn't Kvothe's story, it's mine. No, Bast, maybe later I'll tell you the Kvothe stories I know, and there are a great deal of them.

So, I went to the Eolian with my friends Hortense, Max, and Rissa. And for the first time, I heard music. Really heard it. It wasn't the sterile stuff of orchestra pits in Tarbean—though much of it was precisely played—and it was…magical. It was the first time I'd heard any of Illien's less popular songs, and it was in that term that my mind opened. I'd make a metaphor out of it, but I've always been bad at those. "Opened like a flower" or somesuch. No. We'll just leave it at that.

It was then that I knew what my second line of study would be. I enrolled with the Master Archivist and learned as many of the secrets of the Archives as I could. Every time I put a book away, I looked for one that would help me find what I was looking for, and in another two terms, I'd compiled a rather thorough historical background on Illien and his work, and a schema, long-forgotten, of a double-stringed lute.

You have to understand that keeping a double-stringed lute in tune is not the only concern among luthiers. There are two other problems with it, one branching from the first. The double strings place incredible stress on the neck, and no matter what wood you use, it's incredibly susceptible to changes in humidity. I worked on these problems for my second project, and while they didn't culminate in the creation of a double-stringed lute, they did create a very durable violin and my advancement to the rank of El'the.

I was perhaps eight terms into my study on this level when I was pulled aside by one of the other masters. Master Elodin—the Master Namer, a funny man at the very least, and horse-shit crazy if anyone's stories were to be believed—had deigned to speak to me, and I found that despite his many idiosyncracies, he was a rather ordinary man. This was comforting, as what I'd heard was odd, to say the least, and frightening to say the most.

"How long have you been here?" he asked me.

"This is my twentieth term, Master," I said, as politely as I could manage, given that he was narrowing his eyes at me.

He tapped my forehead with one pale finger. "You need to open this up a little more," he said, then made a kind of clucking noise. Disapproval, I think. "In the old days, you had to know a Name to rank as high as you do."

"A name."

"Yes, a name, girl! What is Kilvin teaching you?" Kilvin was the Master Artificer and my primary teacher, and the one I think will graduate me. Though until then, I didn't realize that it takes approval from _all _of the University's masters to earn your guilder—to graduate, that is.

"Woodwork, mostly." Then Elodin grabbed my hands and inspected them.

"Yep. These hands know wood. But does _this _know wood?" He poked my forehead again, and when that happened, all I wanted was to run away, crying or screaming or both.

It was all I could do to maintain my composure, and even then, I don't think I did, I said something, and heard a deep _crack_. He opened my case and looked at it, smiling. "Yes. It knows wood. Now it just needs to learn how to call it. You take yourself too seriously. You should go and chase the wind." Then he walked away as if nothing had happened, and I had to replace Miala's precious neck.

When I asked my advisors what he meant, they explained it to me. Often a student would take several terms away from study to go and explore the world, a place where there's much to learn, much that the University couldn't teach. Traditionally, this was because the student would go to chase the name of the wind, but wind is such a fickle thing, and I had no interest in learning it, really. Master Kilvin smiled at this, and said I should do it anyway.

"There's much to be learned, even if you don't find a name. I did it, most students do it. So too should you." I ignored his advice for another term, but couldn't ignore it for too much longer.

This was because Master Elodin pulled me to the side one morning before Admissions was to begin. I won't tell you the details, only that he punted me in the direction of Imre, and only partially by choice did I finally leave to chase the wind. To be fair, it was a perfect opportunity; a lone traveler, especially a woman, is never in a good place. I thought originally to travel along the Great Stone Road and listen to music in various inns and towns, just to see how much different things were, musically, away from the Capital. I was never an adventurous sort: I never thought to go past the Stonewal, and travel by sea has always frightened me. So, land it was, and when I was making the most tentative plans, I thought to join a caravan and travel with them for a time.

What I found in Imre, however, was much, much different—and somehow, more fitting—than just any caravan. They were the Company of Baron Rehali, a troupe of Edema Ruh. I simultaneously hated Master Elodin for his cheek and was baffled at his supposed prescience.

I paid my jot and ventured to the stage, Miala tucked safely in her case. I listened to stories, watched acrobats, and enjoyed a fine puppet show. But as I wandered through the town hall in which they set up, I heard the first lilting notes of one of Illien's best-loved songs: The Lay of Sir Savien Traliard. It was something I'd always wanted to learn to play, but never gathered the temerity to attempt; I was a violinist, not a lutist, after all, and adapting the tune to a bow seemed…sacrilegious at best.

I ventured in the direction of the player, and found myself mesmerized. He had a sure set of hands, long-fingered and graceful, and a voice that could make Tehlu and all of his angels sigh. He looked my case and continued to play, smiling a bit as he continued. His eyes asked me to play, or sing, or both, but I couldn't. As I said before, I thought it might be sacrilege of a sort, murdering one of Illien's most-loved songs by way of bow, and as you've already heard, my voice is—well, lacking. _Good for drinking nights and soothing horses,_ my father used to say, and I think he's right.

In any case, this man played his song, and made me cry. Huge tears rolled down my face as I listened to the song—it does that, every time, and it would for you, if you've ever heard it—and when he finished, I did all I could to suppress a sob. Luckily for me, he gave me enough time to recover before he approached.

"I thought you might come in," he said to me as I wiped the last of the tears from my face.

"I know the song, a little, but it seemed rude to do so," I said.

"It's never rude to make music with someone who invites you." He held out a hand, and I shook it. He had a fine, strong grip, firm and comforting. His hands were so soft. "My name is Sebastian."

"I'm Eilonwy," I said.

"Like _The Eiloniad_?"

"Exactly so," I said, and smiled.

"You'll have to sing a bit of it for me," he said, "Perhaps later tonight, after we're through here." It was an invitation, not to the rest of their stay in Imre, but to their campsite, just outside of town.

"I don't sing well," I said, holding up my violin case, "but I will play."

He walked me through the rest of the showcase, talking with me a little about this and that, insights into the performances, then deposited me at the exit when it seemed I'd run out of questions to ask.

"Tonight," he said, "an hour after sundown, we'll gather for dinner. I hope you'll join us."

I wandered Imre for what seemed like hours, and made my way to the place where I'd seen them set up camp: a tall greystone along the Omethi. Sets of suspicious eyes greeted me until Sebastian's looked up from the fire, and he smiled broadly and called ahullo.

I'd heard rumors before, and there were some valuable bits of knowledge in the Archives, as well. So I knew that when the leader of the troupe offered me wine, I should ask for water, instead; and that no matter how grandly he offered wine, I should insist on water, until he offered me both. It was a piece of theatrics I was unfamiliar with, but danced around all the same. The eyes around the campfire all smiled after that, and Sebastian introduced me to his family: all the performers from earlier, and a few besides. The two children gathered around me, as we ate a delicious stew, warming and savory, and called me "Sister". I was family, for a night. I sang for my supper, in a way: I played them the entirety of _The Eiloniad,_ all three acts of it.


	8. The Eiloniad

"Tiny gods, Eilonwy—_The Eiloniad_ is two hours long!" Bast said.

"Oh, believe me, I know," she said. "But I'm no stranger to opera, remember? I had to play the backing for the entire thing. First chair, and all that. You don't exactly get a pee break when you're in the orchestra pit." She sighed. "Anyways, they were the best audience I've ever had."

"Besides me?"

She laughed. "Besides you."

"Were you serious about telling me Kvothe stories?" he asked, pointedly ignoring Kote's sullen stare in his direction.

"Maybe another time. Like I said, if he belonged in my story, it was only ever at the very edges. I was after his time."

Bast nodded reverentially.

"Are you doing all right, Kote?"

The innkeeper grunted his assent. Bast noted that he was playing the part of the xenophobic idiot pretty well. Kvothe would never have allowed someone to say the things that Kote had said about the Edema Ruh, that was for sure, so hearing the same words out of Kote's mouth was more than a little disconcerting.

They helped clean up after themselves and poured more tumblers of whiskey, then raised their glasses and drank. They sat back down at the table with pieces of the freshly-baked pie.

"All right," Eilonwy said. "Where were we? Right. I'd just played the entirety of _The Eiloniad_, and even the children sat completely rapt to listen…"

* * *

I had played the entirety of _The Eiloniad_, which isn't incredibly complex, but definitely long, but even the children sat, stock-still, completely rapt. Children aren't allowed at the concert hall in Tarbean—and for good reason—so this was incredibly surprising to me.

I finally finished to warm applause. It was a little chilly, and my hands were so cold at this point in time; I'm sure that the last aria I played was beginning to get sloppy, but nobody said anything. Sebastian came and felt my hands.

"I thought so," he said, and brought me a mug of heated mulled wine and one of the thickest blankets I've ever seen. "You could have stopped any time you'd liked."

"I didn't realize my hands were cold until I'd finished playing," I said, and he laughed a little.

"I totally understand."

The children were getting tired, and their mother put them to bed while we listened to stories. They were stories, but they were stories like I've never heard before. More like…histories, which lined up perfectly with what I've read. Each of them was a small truth, and one person's. I was asked for mine, and I gave it: a slightly less abbreviated version of the one I told you.

"Chasing the wind," Edlin—Sebastian's father—said, after I was done. "I like the sound of it. It's poetic."

"Where will you go?" Sebastian asked.

I shrugged. At least, I distinctly remember shrugging; the blanket was thick enough that I don't know anyone saw it. "I thought I'd join a caravan and travel the Great Stone Road for a time."

Sebastian grinned at his father, who grinned back. "We could use an arcanist's skills on the road," he said. "And the occasional fiddler." I neglected to correct him in the semantics; while I could play any piece thrown at me, I was still a very poor fiddler. I wasn't a full arcanist, yet, either—though at that point I probably could have matched skills with anyone wearing a guilder.

"I'll ask my father," I said. And Sebastian and I stayed up almost until morning, talking of everything under the stars. He played his lute for me, and I listened, happy to be the audience for once. I told him more about my projects in the Artificery and showed him the work I'd done on Miala.

To this day I couldn't tell you the moment in which I knew I loved him. Was it that first moment I saw him in the town hall, playing Illien's most famous work? Probably not. Was it the moment that he wrapped me his own blanket? Maybe. I still remember the tenderness of the gesture, the way his hands rested on my shoulders. The familiarity of it, the easy affection of it, the warmth of the company and the fire…

Actually, though, in all truth, I think the moment I was searching for was this time last year, so we'll move in that direction. We headed along the Great Stone Road, making a slow, stately pace toward Baron Rehali's lands in the Vintas. We—tiny gods, we, I can never get over that—were due in his court for High Mourning, where Sebastian was to play Encanis for the first time. You're from closer to the capital, so you know what that's like. Any mayor with a lick of sense hires proper performers for High Mourning, and if you're someone like me you avoid Tarbean if you can, or at the very least do your damndest to stay out of Waterside.

I'd never taken part in the festivities before this. I always played the grand services at the Tehlin church for the entire span. But I'm getting ahead of myself. It took two months to reach Baron Rehali's lands, and as we went along, I put my skills to good use: I made candles that burned blue. With my limited skill in alchemy, I mixed face paints that were nowhere near as toxic as they could have been. Occasionally, I used sympathy to make special effects for plays: an instant, roaring bonfire that came as quickly as it went; a chill in the room to signify a ghost in the air, dense fog out of cold mist. Much more comfortable than heat-generated mist, to be sure. Sebastian and I were fast friends, having many similarities in personality. He was clever, much more clever than I. If he had chosen to go to the University, I believe he would have done very well for himself. He had an insatiable mind and a faultless memory, but those were things I saw in almost his entire family. I think it just comes with the territory of having a mostly oral tradition. He was well read, enthusiastic, and unfailingly polite. Do you see who you remind me of, now, Bast? He even looks a little like you. A dark beauty, and charming.

I told stories. I heard them. I got a traveler's tan for the first time in my life, despite the lingering chill in the air. I stopped playing the violin—well, okay, I didn't stop—and I learned to fiddle. And all the while, Sebastian rode with me as Cibwarra pulled one of the wagons. And while I, myself, had never had a grudge against the Edema Ruh, I began to see what others were talking about. We loved each other almost as much as some people hated us. It was eye-opening, and more than a little depressing.

Back to where we were. High Mourning in the Baron's court. We arrived safely, and prepared to make our home there for the winter. The rooms were gigantic and luxurious, and we ate the best foods money could buy, things that were well out of season and incredibly expensive. We spent our days repairing the wagons—my knowledge of joinery was very useful in this context—and the afternoons I'd spend learning how to play a demon.

They trotted me out to the Baron for my skill as a violinist. I played my favorite pieces: Bellamy, Horta, Lisatz—and joined Sebastian for some songs we'd been practicing together. The Baron was happy to see me as a new addition, and though it was explained I was only traveling with them for a time, he had clothing fashioned for me in his colors, and a proper winter cloak.

High Mourning came, and we terrorized the people of the court for all eleven days. Sebastian played a perfect Encanis and made his father proud. I wasn't a very bad demon, myself. Midwinter Day came, and we celebrated along with the court, which is to say that—oh, Bast, if you're getting up, can you top me off, too? Thank you—we got roaring drunk. Sebastian took me for a walk around the snow-covered grounds, and though it was freezing cold outside, we reached outside our cloaks and held each other's hands.

"What luck," he whispered, as we sat on a great stone bench in front of a vined archway. It had little more than branches in the dead of winter.

"Luck?"

He nodded. "We were only supposed to pass through Imre, the day I met you."

This was something I hadn't known. "What happened?"

"There was a greystone. We always stop, when we see a greystone. Old bit of superstition, so we stayed, and got permission to play."

I smiled. "It's definitely a coincidence worth having."

"I'll agree to that," he said. Then he made a poem for me—or recited it from memory, perhaps, I never knew. Either way, the words of it are for me, and me alone. But I can tell you how I felt in that moment. It was like I'd never seen him before. Oh, I knew him. I'd spent two months in his almost constant company. I could tell you where he stood on a thousand thousand issues. We played together in perfect harmony. And I liked him, I really did. In that moment though, I saw his eyes for the first time. Deep, clear, blue, and utterly, utterly sincere. I knew without asking that he'd loved me from the start.

I'd never known love before that. Which isn't to say that I hadn't had my share of awkward courtships, because I had. And even then, I wasn't quite sure if I felt the same. But Sebastian was patient, and indomitable at the same time, and by the high summer we were not only thick as thieves, but practically inseparable to boot. Inseparable enough, perhaps, that some people in the troupe might already have been taking bets on the sex of our firstborn.

In all this, I called the name of wood twice more. I can't explain the feeling. I've never had the words for it, but it's always happened when I've been in close touch with the thing itself. It's a calmness, a stillness, and then suddenly…you know it. And it follows. And it recedes, leaving only the memory of having said it. But that seems so irrelevant now in comparison to everything else, and I suppose that brings us to why I'm here, and not with him.


	9. Reasons Why

"That's so sweet," Bast said dreamily. He was leaning forward with his chin in his hands, and knew he looked like some sort of fawning idiot.

"It is, isn't it?" Eilonwy asked, and sighed. "Look at me. Waxing poetic like an old drunk."

"And you love him? Really love him?"

"I really do."

"Then why are you here?" Kote asked. It was the first time he'd spoken, and Bast was sure it had come out a little more harshly than intended.

"Well, I was about to get to that, but it is rather late."

"And we're rather drunk. But you should finish, anyway." Kote sniffed. "My father always said that there's no greater sin than a story left half-told."

"Your father is a pretty wise man."

"Was."

Eilonwy frowned just a little. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's just how things work, sometimes."

She nodded. "So. As to why I'm here. Just before we began to make our way back toward Baron Rehali's lands, Sebastian asked me if I would stay."

"But that's a good thing!" Bast said.

"Well, yeah."

"But what? It's not even something you'd have to think about."

"Bast, I'd have to leave everything I've ever known to make a home on the road. Deucalion would have to run the luthiery once Father retired. I'd have to give up my scholarship at the University. And I'd have to commit to a life of never knowing where I'd be, but once a year. That doesn't seem hard to you?"

"It's not like you're deciding who to send to a war."

She sighed. "I'm not the King. I'm no kingkiller, either. I'm certainly no land-baron, and I'm definitely not even a blooded noble. My choices wouldn't change the world. But they'd change my world, and I think that deserves just a little bit of thought, don't you think?"

"Well, I…yeah, I suppose. But to just run away from him? That seems kind of cold."

To his surprise, Eilonwy laughed. "Oh, Bast. I didn't run away. I told him I needed some time, and that I wanted to spend the winter thinking about it. So we parted ways in Rannish, and I found this place after the townfolk there turned me away."

"What? Why would they do that?"

"Think, Bast," Kote said. "If she was traveling with the caravan in Rannish, they probably wanted nothing to do with her business."

"Oh."

"Exactly."

Eilonwy cleared her throat. "So here I am, for the winter. I told him that come spring, I would have a gift for him, and an answer. Here's the gift." She patted the lute.

"And the answer?"

She sighed. "I don't know yet."

"Oh, Eilonwy. The boy loves you. He'd follow you, if you asked."

She shook her head slowly. "Asking one of the Edema to set down roots would be like asking a horse to walk backwards. It's possible, but not for long. When we were in Baron Rehali's court, he was restless by three span and practically vibrating with frustration by six. I could never do that to him. No. That option is off the table."

"Maybe just for a little while."

"Now there's an idea," she said. "Maybe enough time to get my affairs in order before running away."

"What would your father have to say about all this?" Kote asked.

"I think he'd be devastated, but I know he'd understand." She smiled. "My mother did the same to be with him."

"Maybe that's your answer." Kote stood up. "I've had too much whiskey. I'm going to bed." As he got up and left, Bast noticed that his eyes had a definite sheen to them. Had Eilonwy missed it?

"I think that's a good idea," she said, and got up as well. "Can you help me get the fire going in my room again, Bast?"

"Absolutely," he said. He took her dishes to the sink and followed her up the stairs.

* * *

"There we are," Bast said as the fire caught and held. "I don't see why you wanted me to do this."

"I paid good money for the lodgings," she said, smiling. "But I…well, I also had a question for you."

"And I have an answer."

She took a deep breath. "You promise you won't overreact?"

"I promise."

"Swear it."

"I swear by all the salt in me, I won't overreact."

She pressed her lips together. "You aren't…a man…exactly, are you?"

She did know. Oh, tiny gods, she did know. He counted to ten in his head, and smiled. "What clued you in?"

"A few things seemed off, and I put two and two together and got five. But, mostly, it was the boots. Do you mind?" she reached tentatively out at the place where there had once been a boot.

"Not at all." He wiggled a cloven hoof for her, and she touched it. Her hand trembled as she felt along the ridges of it, and he tried not to laugh from the tickling sensation.

"Huh." She backed off, and was clearly trying to stay calm. "Thank you."

"You have nothing to fear from me."

"Yet," she said, then seemed to regret her words. "I'm sorry, Bast. I just…well, I would never have believed it until now."

"Some span ago, you asked if you could have my name, and I wasn't forthcoming. If you give me your fear in exchange, you can have it now and a promise, as well."

She nodded, mutely.

He bowed deeply and with flourish. "My lady Eilonwy, it is my pleasure to intoduce myself. I am Bastas, son of Remmen; Prince of Twilight and the Telwyth Mael." He winked. "You can still call me Bast. And, as to the promise: I swear by all the salt in me, by the light of the moon, and any and all things you hold dear, I will hold you to no harm. In fact, I'm at your service, since you're my lodger."

"What is a Fae prince doing in a town like this?"

"Faen is the correct adjective, and it's a long story."

"We have time." She seemed to be having trouble meeting his eyes, now that the glamour had slipped.

"We do have time," he agreed, "but not the liberty. Perhaps later. Here." He put a hand in front of her eyes. "If you don't think about it, you won't see it."

She took a deep breath. "Okay."

Bast lifted the hand. "Better?"

"Much. I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's all right. I get it a lot. Well, actually not a lot, but it always seems to be the reaction of men to my true form."

He sat on the bed next to her after she patted it. "Thank you for listening to my story."

"You said you weren't very good at telling them."

"I guess I've gotten some practice."

"I'll say. Will you tell me what you know about Kvothe?"

She sighed. "What is with your obsession with him?"

Bast shrugged. "I just. Well, I don't know," he lied. "I mean, he's the kingkiller."

"I walked along many of the same roads as he did. I spent time in many of the same places. And I know people that knew him, or had regular contact with him. At the University, they talk of him with as if he were hero and villain both." She shrugged. "It's complicated."

"What would you do, if you met him?"

"Did he do something to you?"

So she didn't suspect, then, or perhaps thought he was affected by the trouble Kvothe's actions had caused. He took the opportunity to play on her misconception. "You could say that. But I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, Bast," she said, gathering him up into a hug. "All of us. It's all of us." She sighed. "I think…I think I'd ask him why."

"Why?"

She nodded. "Why anything. Why he did it. Why he made the choices he did. But it doesn't matter, anyway, does it? He's dead and gone, and none of us will ever know." She shifted around a bit, and looked thoughtful. "So much knowledge died with him. Master Lorren told me once, when he'd started at the University, that he'd asked if Arliden the Bard really was his father."

"He did?"

"Mmm. He wanted to know because he wanted to go through the Archives and see if maybe Kvothe could help him commit his songs properly to memory. He told me Kvothe snapped at him, like a dog—the stories all say he had an incredible temper."

She shrugged, and got up to dismiss him. It seemed as if the subject matter had deflated her spirits, and he understood the sentiment. "All I have to say is this: all the genius in the world is disastrous without a little bit of humility and a lot of common sense."

As Bast exited her room, he heard steps leaving the hallway. They were almost too silent to hear, and he wondered just how much his Reshi had overheard.


	10. Turnabout is Fair Play

Midwinter had come and gone, and Eilonwy's mood seemed to stay sour for half the next span following. She locked herself in the workshed, only coming out for meals and usually going straight back to her room.

One morning, though, not long after Midwinter, a letter arrived addressed to her. Bast took it, paid the runner, and knocked on the door of the shed.

"Enter."

She was bent over the table in the far corner, and had a smile on her face when she turned to him. "Look." Bast leaned in as she showed him an elaborate carving, circular in shape and apparently designed to fit over the sound hole of the instrument she'd crafted.

"It's lovely."

"I called its name, and it bent itself for me."

He eyed it again: Yes, it wasn't carved, but shaped. "You did it. It listened when you called."

She stared at it, halfway in disbelief, and laughed. "It worked."

"One down, thousands to go, I'd wager."

"One is good enough for me," she said. "Is there something you needed me for?"

"Oh!" Bast said, and handed her the letter. "Yes. This came for you today."

She looked at it and cracked it open, the wax of the seal crumbling to the floor below. Her eyes scanned the letter, and her grin widened as she finished it. "He says he awaits the first thaw, my gift, and my answer."

"And…have you thought of the answer?"

She smiled. "I think it's a yes. I've been thinking about it a lot, but this—" she gestured at the carved sound hole cover—"I think this means I can be happy with where I'm at, guilder or no guilder. I was a great help on the road, and I think I know where I belong."

"That's the best news I've heard all month," Bast said, and fully meant it.

Things were better after that. Her mood grew steadily better, and Kote grudgingly allowed her to trot the violin out the next three Felling nights. It was a small audience, but they were appreciative enough, and she seemed to know most of the songs they requested of her. And then the spring came, and the thaw began. Snowmelt ran in rivulets down the streets, and icicles formed on the roofs of the houses when the night froze the dripping water.

It was a Felling night on one of those kinds of days when Sebastian made his appearance in Newarre. The fire was roaring, chasing out the humidity, and Eilonwy was playing a slow, placid march on her violin. Bast noticed his entrance, but wondered how long it would take her to figure out that he had come at last.

She was right; the man Sebastian could easily have been Bast's brother. He was perhaps a little taller, and not as finely dressed, though road clothes were almost never flattering, no matter the person. He looked every bit the charming rogue that Bast liked to play, but his eyes appeared sincere and aimed solidly in her direction. She finished the song, and he clapped among the others. When she raised her eyes from her fingerboard, her face lit up, and she laughed. She set Miala down and rushed into his arms, and in a move that could have been lifted from a storybook, he swung her around and stole a kiss.

This elicited a series of wolf-whistles from the drunker men in the common room, and she flushed and sat him back down at the table, gesturing at Bast to come over. Two of the locals took the music into their own hands and started singing "Tinker Tanner" in their corner. Bast shook his head, poured a large tankard of ale, and headed over to the table.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, putting the ale in front of Sebastian. She rolled her eyes, grinned, and cuffed him gently in the shoulder.

"Bast, I'd like you to meet Sebastian. Seb, this is Bast, my host and my shadow for the winter, and in that corner is Kote, the owner."

"It's a pleasure," Bast said, enthusiastically pumping Sebastian's hand. He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "She's told me lots about you."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, yes. She speaks of your prowess and that you may or may not know your way around a fretboard." Bast eyed the boy's lute case as he said it.

"That I do. That I do."

"How were the roads?" he asked, returning to a normal voice.

"Wet," he said. "But I couldn't wait any longer. I was going crazy. So I…well, I came ahead of everyone."

"You traveled alone, Seb?" Eilonwy looked aghast.

"Only a little of the way," he said placatingly, and then turned to Bast. "I know it's pretty late. Is there anything left on the kettle?"

"Absolutely," Bast said. "You two lovebirds have your time. I'll fetch you something warm to eat and when you're ready, I'll get a bath ready. I know what it's like to want to get the road off you."

Sebastian wrinkled an eyebrow, but smiled. "Thank you."

As Bast left, he heard a snippet of conversation between the two:

"He's attentive."

"He's sweet, and also happy to see you."

Sebastian ate and drank his fill as they talked, and the Felling night crowd filtered out of the Waystone until only the two remained. Bast took to his closing duties, and watched as Kote followed, meticulously sweeping and swabbing the floors of the common room. Eilonwy got up and headed in the direction of the shed, and held her creation behind her back as she came back into the common room.

"I told you I had a gift, and an answer."

Sebastian folded his hands in his lap and smiled. He seemed exhausted from the road, but his interest was clearly piqued. "Is this the gift, or the answer?"

"Both," she said, then held the instrument out to him and placed something small in his hands besides. She turned very red, and sat down.

Bast couldn't tell if Sebastian's eyes could get any larger. He felt the bowl of the lute reverently, then moved his hands up to the neck, and felt the shaped carving of the soundhole. "All my years. I've never seen anything so beautiful."

She touched the fingerboard lightly. "I know you prefer fretless, but with the double strings I couldn't get very good sustain without. I hope you don't mind."

He shook his head mutely, then held it in front of him, shaped a few chords, and listened. "Open tuning?"

"I can change it if you prefer. I'd just have to swap a few runes."

"Huh." He shaped a few more chords, then picked one he liked and ran his fingers up and down the strings, picking along them. "I can't decide what I like more. This, or these."

She smiled, and when Bast looked, he saw two wooden rings sitting on the table.

"Vihuela," Kote said, surprising them all with his first word in several hours.

"I'm sorry?"

"Vihuela," he repeated. "It's the name of an old Cealdish lute, with double strings. Lost to memory, and Illien tried for years to remake it." He looked back down at the bar, seemingly embarrassed. "Something I heard in a story, anyway."

"Vihuela," Eilonwy said, nodding. "It has a ring to it. What do you think, Seb?"

"It fits." He strummed a chord. "Vihuela." Then he looked at Bast. "I can hardly keep my eyes open. How about that bath?"

Bast was only too happy to oblige, and before long he heard murmuring and gentle laughter coming from the room next to him. It continued for a while, and though it kept him up, he figured that with his own frequent guests, turnabout was fair play.


	11. Departure Eve

The morning fires, the morning bread. Sweeping, swabbing. Bast sighed as he worked his way along the morning list, then went to the barn to bring Cibwarra his morning meal.

"Good morning, horse. Sorry I'm late."

Warra huffed a little, but didn't seem too put out about it.

"It looks like our time together might be drawing to a close. You're a fine horse. Finer than your friend seems to think you are. Should I tell her?"

A shake of his huge head indicated a very solid _no_.

"I didn't think so, either. You'll take good care of her, though, I'm sure of it. Here." He tucked two sprigs of evergreen into Warra's bridle, wrapping them gently around. "People like you and I need a little bit of greenery around us. The open road suits you, though, I can tell that much. May all your roads be smooth ones, and all your loads be light."

"I've always suspected he might be a little more than horse," said a voice from behind him. Sebastian had strolled into the barn, silent as a stalking cat. It was almost enough for him to let his glamour drop. He yelped, then recovered.

"You gave me a scare, Sebastian."

"I'm sorry." He patted Warra on the neck, and the horse nickered gently. "He's wicked smart. But I've never told Eilonwy. It sounds like a faerie story whenever I say it out loud, and I'm sure he really is just a horse."

So he didn't actually believe it. Good. Warra would be the better for everyone's ignorance. He paused and thought for a moment about what he might say. "When do you think everyone else will get here?"

"Oh, they won't be traveling this way." He was clearly trying to sound flippant, but it didn't work.

"They…what?"

"I'm taking her back to the University," he said. "I…well, I spent a lot of time thinking about things this winter. I didn't have the heart to make her leave everything she loves."

"But you?"

"I'll manage," he said. "I wouldn't be the first of the Edema to leave the road. But—" he leaned against Warra comfortably—"we can have the best of both worlds. When she graduates, we'll find my family again. And we'll be all the richer for having a guilded arcanist among our number."

"Even if she isn't a very good actor?"

Sebastian laughed. "Even so."

"When will you leave?"

"Tomorrow, I think. The roads are good right now, and with some luck we'll find a caravan headed our way once we get to the king's road. Speaking of which, I'd pay for a pack-full of good food for the journey."

"I can handle that," Bast said, and set to work gathering what Sebastian had asked for.

Later in the evening, after a quiet dinner, Sebastian pulled the vihuela out of his improvised case and began to play it. It hadn't taken long for him to get proper fingerings down, and Bast wondered at that. Perhaps he'd already played something tuned similar. In any case, it wasn't long before Eilonwy joined in, weaving a quiet countermelody around Sebastian's tune. He then worked some chords, and though Eilonwy looked confused at first, she smiled, dropped out, and let him play. He closed the chord, and spoke the opening words to "The Lay of Sir Savien Traliard".

From his place at the bar, Kote perked up and stopped wiping glasses.

And Sebastian played. The few people in the common room of the inn stopped talking. Time stopped, and in the part where someone with a perfect voice might have come in for Aloine, Eilonwy played Miala instead. Though Bast thought it might not work, it did. All the while, his Reshi leaned into the bar, listening, his eyes glistening with a fire Bast had only seen a few times in this desolate place. He hoped against everything he had that this moment might wake him up.

The song ended, the faint shadow of Kvothe in the innkeeper's eyes faded, and Bast was alone again. They played a few more songs before Bast made his decision and tapped Eilonwy on the shoulder.

"May I have a quick word with you?"

She nodded and followed him to the work shed. Bast looked around and locked the door.

"Is everything all right?"

He nodded. "I just needed a private word, before you left. I…" he flailed miserably for the proper words. "This is for you." She took an improvised coat clasp from him; a sprig of holly with the berries still intact.

"I offer this to you without obligation, let or lien. A freely given gift. For everything you've done for me."

"But I haven't—"

"Hush. You have, more than you know." He paused, wondering if he should continue. "The next thing I offer is a secret. Swear that you won't tell."

"I swear it."

"Swear it three times, Eilonwy. And properly."

She sighed. "I swear it three times: by the wood of my bow, by the song of my heart, by my own secret name."

"Poetic," he giggled.

"I've heard enough stories to add a little bit of flavor to my own," she said. "Now, what is it?"

He nodded a little, determined to soldier on. "A few span ago, you told me that if you ever met Kvothe, you'd want to ask him why."

She nodded.

"If you were a man as clever as he, what would you do, after you did what you did?"

"I'd have been clever enough not to murder a king, that's for sure. But that's a rhetorical question, isn't it?"

"It is," Bast admitted. "But if I were Kvothe, I'd…say…fake my own death. Retire to a town in the middle of nowhere and open an inn, and live the rest of my life out as quietly as I could."

He watched her mind absorb the information, and knew he'd hit pay dirt when all the blood drained from her face. "Which would explain why I had a Faen prince for an apprentice."

"Tell _no one_. But know where you spent your winter, Eilonwy. And remember me."

He held her close, and she said nothing for a long while, then sniffed.

"I could never forget."


	12. Departure

In the morning, she left. There was little fanfare for it; Bast and Sebastian packed Cibwarra high with packs, and he looked like a very odd pack horse indeed with three instrument cases slung across his back.

The silence of the inn after nearly three months of her presence unnerved him. It was no longer a comfortable blanket, but a choking damp that clawed at him as he went about the business of every day. The lingering smell of horse faded in the barn, and once the sawdust in the work shed was cleaned, there was nothing left of her stay.

Summer came and alleviated the worst of it; traders and caravans came through town and kept the two busy. Even a traveling troupe made their way through town, but it wasn't long before Bast abandoned any hope that they were Edema Ruh, let alone any of Baron Rehali's company. All the while, the shadow of Kvothe slipped farther and farther away.

One morning, a gentleman walked into the inn, full of purpose and carrying a small sack under one arm. "I'm looking for someone named Bast."

"That's me," he said.

"Good." He put the sack down on the table in front of him. "This has come a really long way. Way out by the capital. Place called…Amary."

Bast smiled. "Imre."

"Whatever." The man held out a hand, and Bast gave him a few pennies for his trouble, then a few more when the man wrinkled an eyebrow.

"Come on now," Bast said. "I know she gave you at least two talents on the outs."

"I bought this from someone in Rannish for a whole talent. Make it worth my while, if'n you please."

"Fine." He dug a talent out of his purse and added it to the pennies. The man stormed out.

He waited until the evening to open the sack. It was soft, and he realized later that it was because it was an object being cushioned by a small blanket. A book?

He uncovered it and smiled. The book was of pretty good size, and bound in fine leather and brass: _Small Histories of the Edema Ruh: Thoughts on Storytelling and the Oral Tradition_, by one Eilonwy Siyelle. He cracked the book open to the first page to find a letter written in a precise hand.

_Dearest Bastas,_

_I wanted to send a copy of this to you. It__'s one of only three in the world right now, so take care of it; it might be worth good money someday. By the time you read this, I will have graduated from the University with the Master Archivist and the Master Artificer as my sponsors. We will be leaving Imre to meet the family in Vintas, traveling most of the way with the first caravan we find. As I predicted, Father was unhappy but cooperative. We used my dowry to have a fine wagon built, and it'll serve as both our home and my on-the-road workshop. I've made more improvements to the vihuela, which stands to become one of the most popular instruments my father sells. It's too bad I can only manage to make one per month, and possibly fewer on the road._

_I would stop to see you on our way, but I fear Newarre is too far off the beaten path for most of the caravans we find, and we__'ll be getting a late start as it is, so this book will have to make a poor substitute for our presence._

_Again, thank you for the companionship and the perspective. It__'s meant more to me than I can express in a letter, or a book._

_Be sure to thank your teacher for his suggestion for the vihuela. He__'s proven to have quite the skill in names. I only wish I could have heard him play it._

_Yours,_

_Eilonwy_

_Pstscrpt. What have you done to my horse?_

The next evening, another set of travelers rolled into town, and Bast had made up his mind. He waited until Kote had descended into the basement before he spoke to the well-lathered men sitting around the table.

"I heard the Kingkiller is still alive," he said, casually. "And living not far from here. Whaddaya think of that?"

**END**


End file.
